The Perfect Plan
by Mirlanthiriel
Summary: Bellatrix's attempt to take over the body of an unsuspecting muggle woman goes horribly wrong. Severus Snape finds himself disturbingly attracted to his fellow deatheater. How will the muggle woman react to her situation and to Severus Snape? A SSOFC Fic.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This fan fiction is based on the world of Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling.

**Chapter 1**

It was a perfect plan. Though she loathed the very thought of her soul being housed within the flesh of such a low form of being, it was better than death. She knew it was only a matter of time; the Ministry or the bloody Order would find her sooner or later.

She watched as the muggle woman flipped through the letters she pulled from the letterbox. The muggle would not be missed. Bellatrix had been watching her over the last three weeks. She was single, new to London, and all alone in the world. The dark witch pulled her wand from the folds of her dirty robes and stepped out of the darkness. The plan was perfect.

* * *

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of water woke her.

Miriam gave a painful sounding groan and stretched out on the cold stone floor. Her entire body ached. She attempted to sit up; however, the pain was too great. She let out another aching groan and rolled onto her back.

She lifted her hands to her face to wipe her hair out of her face. She still felt disoriented and the hair covering her eyes made it more difficult for her to see.

It was dark. Her first fear was that she had gone blind. She had heard of it happening before. She was momentarily relieved to see the rugged texture of a decaying wall appear. She was at least not blind.

Her vision had blurred before; however, never had she suffered a complete blackout after a seizure.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

She turned her head toward the sound of the dripping noise. A black puddle of water rippled in response to the last drop.

Her brow furrowed.

When she first awoke she thought perhaps she had suffered a seizure, fallen off the step onto the stone walkway and had been looking toward the wall separating her building from the roadway. She now realized this was not the case. She was not outside at all. There was no sky above.

She attempted to sit up once more. Her muscles protested; however, she was determined. She realized with a deep feeling of horror that the constant rushing noise from the other side of the wall, which she thought was the sound to traffic, was not traffic at all. As she moved closer to the wall she realized it was in fact the sound of waves. She pressed her hand against the wall as though seeing some sort of verification through the cold surface. She felt her lungs tighten and the very breath within her still.

She turned around to face the darkness. She could not see more than a few inches into the void. Standing, she could no longer see the pool of water that had been on the floor. Her legs seemed to disappear into the shadows. Darkness was all around her.

"Hello?" she released a faint and somewhat hollow plea into the darkness.

The sound of her own voice was foreign to her; however, at the time this seemed reasonable. Her fear seemed to be tightening a noose around her vocal cords. The pounding of her heart within her chest made it difficult to breath.

She stepped forward, closer to the wall, and called out again, this time with more strength in her voice. The fear was still decidedly present in her tone. "Hello… Someone?" She let her body lean against the cold wet wall. The rushing of waves outside became somewhat louder. She knew if anyone were near, her voice would not be heard over the sound of the water.

She moved along the wall as though searching for a door or window. It wasn't long before she realized that she was completely enclosed within what seemed to be a stone crypt. Had she died? Was this hell?

"No!" was her whispered reply to the questions churning within her head. She couldn't be dead. This was a horrible mistake.

She began to beat upon the wall with her frozen hands. The stinging pain of her flesh scraping along the rock was surprisingly comforting. The blood that began to flow was warm and felt almost soothing as it trickled over her numbing fingers.

Realizing the unlikelihood that she would be heard she slid down the wall onto the ground; her tears now echoed the

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

"BELLATRIX LESTRANGE APPREHENDED"

Hermione shuffled the morning edition of the Daily Prophet in order to get a better look at the front-page story. This was good news!

"Hey Harry, did you see this?" She pushed her copy toward him.

Harry, who was still not quite awake, looked down at the paper. He adjusted his glasses. It took him a moment to realize what he was reading. He looked up to Hermione. "That's wonderful!"

Hermione nodded and pulled the paper back and began to read the story out loud.

_Bellatrix Lestrange, a Death Eater known for her unquestionable loyalty to He-Who-Must-Not–Be-Named was captured last night by the Ministry of Magic's Kingsley Shacklebolt. Shacklebolt, a highly trained Auror, who has been working undercover in the office of the muggle Prime Minister for the last year, apprehended the notorious Death Eater after having located her using a simple tracking charm. In an exclusive interview with Auror Shacklebolt, we were informed the usually crafty witch had momentarily abandoned an anti-tracking charm she has continually used since her escape from Azkaban back in January of 1996. "I was surprised at first," Shacklebolt explained. "I placed a tracking charm on her after sighting her back in June of 1996 at the Department of Mysteries. I never thought it would have lasted so long." The skilled Auror, who has been with the Ministry of Magic since May of 1977, stated the tracking charm notified him of Lestrange's location as soon as her anti-tracking charm ended. "I was able to apparate directly to her location and quickly apprehended her using a body bind curse."_

_Bellatrix Lestrange, formerly Black, has been placed in a high security ward in Azkaban where she will await trial for the many crimes she has committed since her escape in January 1996. For more on the many crimes of Bellatrix Lestrange see page 8._

"I bet Neville will be pleased that she has been recaptured." Harry poured some more pumpkin juice into his glass and took a drink.

Hermione nodded. She then looked toward the door where a sleepy Ronald Weasley appeared.

"Moooo…ing." The red head rubbed his eyes and yawned.

Hermione and Harry looked at each other and gave a little laugh. Ron was not a morning person at all. He was wearing his high-water pajama pants that had cartoons of the Chudley Cannon logo woven into it. His red hair was plastered to his head on one side, while on the other it seemed to stick out at impossible angles.

Ron stumbled forward and then collapsed onto an empty chair. "Mum already serve breakfast?" He looked at the empty table and frowned. He hoped he hadn't missed it.

"Nope." Hermione handed him the paper. "She left a note this morning that she was meeting your father at Hogwarts. Dumbledore called a meeting." She pointed to the paper. "I suspect it has to do with this."

Ron scanned the headline. He nodded. "Probably." He was still too sleepy to have any real reaction to the good news.

Ron stood up and moved toward a cabinet that was filled with pastries Mrs. Weasley had made the day before. He began to eat, not bothering to offer one to his companions. It wasn't until he was finished with his first treat that he noticed the look Hermione and Harry was giving him. He felt somewhat awkward. "Want one?" He offered them a pastry while chewing.

Harry nodded. Ron threw a pasty at his friend. He turned to Hermione who just shook her head.

"No. Thanks Ron."

Ron could tell by the sound of her voice that she was less than impressed with him. He felt stupid and somewhat embarrassed due to his lack of manners. Realizing there was nothing he could do, he sighed, shook his head, and took another bite of the pastry. "Besides," he thought silently, "It's too early for that kind of thing."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"So what of the muggle?" Minerva McGonagall asked the tall Auror.

The members of the Order of the Phoenix were gathered in Albus Dumbledore's Office at Hogwarts awaiting a more detailed account of the capture of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Kingsley Shacklebolt took a sip of the tea and then answered, "She was transported to a muggle hospital. I think perhaps Lestrange used the Cruciatus Curse. When I arrived the woman was convulsing."

"Has there been any follow-up on her condition?" Minerva asked.

Kingsley shook his head. "Unfortunately that is all we know at this time. We know she is alive and her vital organs seem to be functioning."

Minerva nodded. She felt horrible for the poor muggle woman. From what she understood the young woman could have been no more than twenty-two or three.

Albus Dumbledore, who had been quiet stood and walked toward where Fawkes was perched. He stroked the neck of the magical bird. "Bellatrix is now securely detained in Azkaban." He looked to Kingsley as though to verify this.

Kingsley nodded.

"I received a letter from Rufus Scrimgeour this morning. He wants Bellatrix to be tried three weeks from now."

The brows of many members of the Order furrowed.

"Why wait so long?" Molly Weasley asked the question all wanted to hear an answer for.

Albus nodded. "I agree Molly. I don't understand why Rufus insists on this wait, perhaps to draw on the media, who knows."

"A horrible excuse." Minerva huffed.

The retired Auror, Moody shifted in his seat and mumbled something under his breath. He was not pleased at all that the dark witch was allowed to live another three weeks. She had time and time again proved her guilt. He didn't like the wait; it only allowed for trouble to creep in.

Albus agreed with the concerns of the transfiguration professor and that of the ex-auror.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Herrington covered his face with his hand when he entered the room. He wished he had cast a spell to keep the stench way. It was horrible. He wanted to be sick. The sight before him was disgusting. The dark witch lay huddled on the floor; she lay in a bed of her own feces.

In a far corner of the room lay the overturned bucket of water given to inmates and a stale loaf of bread, which lay untouched.

He looked down at the body of the woman. Was she dead?

He gave her a kick with his boot. "Wake up!" he demanded. "Wake up you filth. We need to get you ready for trial."

She didn't answer.

Herrington knew better than to let his guard down around this witch. She was known for not only her madness but for her cunning.

He gave her a bit harder kick, this time in the back. "Get up!"

Miriam noticed the light. The room seemed to suddenly glow and through her barely open eyes she could see a dark shape emerge from the wall. Was this the end? Was she finely dieing? How long she had been in this place, she did not know. It had seemed like an eternity. She looked toward the light; however, she could not move. She was too weak.

She heard what she believed to be a voice and then what felt like a sharp kick. The dark shape moved around her and once again she felt the pain of someone kicking her.

She released a groan.

Herrington frowned. She wasn't dead.

"Get up. I'm not telling you again." He cast a cleaning spell on the mess surrounding her body. The stench remained.

She didn't move.

He shook his head and aimed his wand at her form. "Levicorpus."

Miriam knew she was dieing now. She felt her body seem to float off the ground and involuntarily follow the light as it moved through the darkness. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She would be gone from this hell soon.

* * *

She was drowning. It was a rude awakening. She had relaxed into the pleasant sensation of moving toward death and then been abruptly submerged in to cold cruel wet reality. She opened her eyes and struggled to swim toward the surface of the water. When she emerged from the pool she looked up and was horrified to see the forms of two men emerge from her blurry vision. They were laughing at her as they watched her struggle.

"Wash yourself you disgusting wench." The younger of the two men tossed a bar of soap at her. It sank down to the bottom of the pool.

Miriam stared blankly at them.

"Go on." The second man waived her on to start. "This isn't some salon. You are to be in court in an hour."

"Court?" Miriam could barely speak.

The two men looked at her as though she were mad. The younger shook his head. "When you're done. Put these on." He tossed what looked to be a pile of clothing on the ground. They then left the room. Miriam was amazed to see the doorway seem to brick over on its own and form a complete wall.

She was now convinced she was dead and was in some sort of horrible purgatory. She was awaiting judgment. She floated in the dark water for a while. There were torches around the room providing some light. Her eyes had now fully readjusted to the degree of light. She looked around her. The rooms reminded her of what might have been a very old bathing pool. The water, though murky looking due to the stone that made up the bath, was clean and felt good upon her lips. It was icy cold; however, it felt wonderful to have the filth she had been laying in removed from her body. She began to pull off the rags she had been wearing. Once her clothes were gone, she dove down in search of the soap the man had tossed at her.

When she resurfaced she began to scrub her face, hands, and body. While there was more light in the room, allowing her to see better, she still couldn't quite make out her own form. She still felt rather displaced from her seizure. She always did; however this time it seemed to take longer to readjust. She wondered if because she had died in this state she would remain in this continues state of displacement. Her body felt awkward. She washed her face a second time. She wondered if the many days confined in darkness and being malnourished had caused her face to become gaunt. She didn't remember her eyes being so deep in her skull. She sank down into the water to wash the soap off her face. In doing this, her hair swam around her head and when she came up stuck to her face. She opened her eyes and went to move it away; however she was shocked still at what she saw. Black hair. She didn't have black hair.

* * *

When the guards returned they found her kneeling over the pool looking down into the water at her face. She was mumbling something under her breath.

Herrington knew the witch was mad. He shook his head. His companion laughed.

"It's not me." Miriam shook her head as she stared down at her reflection in the water. "Not me." She began to cry again.

She heard the two guards enter again. "That's not me." She pointed to her reflection the water. "I… I… Where am I?"

The guards shook their heads. Radcliff looked to his companion. "She's gone off the deep end."

Harrington gave a laugh. "What do you mean has gone? She hasn't been in touch with her mind for years."

Miriam furrowed her brow. "Mad?" she muttered to herself. Had she gone mad?

She felt defeated.

"Come on then… time to go. You're set for trial in fifteen minuets." Harrington motioned for her to follow them through the door that had reappeared in the wall.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Neville Longbottom sat silently in his seat and stared at a set of heavy wooden doors across the room. It was five minuets until Bellatrix Lestrange would be escorted through those doors. By the end of the afternoon the woman responsible for the torture of his parents and of many others would be sentence to the dementor's kiss.

He felt someone put a hand on his. He looked over and was surprised to see Ginny Weasley.

"You all right Neville?" she asked. She gave him a soft smile.

He nodded. "Ya. I think so. Thanks." He couldn't help but return the smile she gave him. In a bold move he turned his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze.

They both turned toward the middle of the courtroom and waited in anticipation for the dark witch to be brought forth. Neville did not release his hold on Ginny's hand.

After a few moments Neville looked to the left of the double doors. A group of aristocratic wizards were gathered there, many of which were known sympathizers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. While they were sympathizers, they were not full-fledged Death Eaters. Neville narrowed his brow as he glanced their way. Draco Malfoy was sitting there with his Mother Narcissa Black Malfoy. Narcissa Malfoy was after all, Bellatrix Lestrange's sister.

"I can't say I feel sorry for her." Ginny whispered to Neville as she looked toward Mrs. Malfoy. I'd hate loosing a sister or brother to the kiss; however… well… Bellatrix Lestrange is absolutely evil."

Neville nodded.

The two Gryffindors were startled out of their thoughts as the double doors swung open and out strode a smug looking court official. He moved to the center of the room, next to a scary looking chair with chains slithering around on the floor.

"All stand!" the proud looking official demanded.

There was a general shuffle and the room rose to their feet. Neville looked to his left and helped his Gran stand.

"I direct you to pay respect to the most honored members of the Wizengamont!"

Four doors around the upper level of the room suddenly opened and out streamed a number of very official looking witches and wizards all dressed in plum-colored robes. Once the majority of the new arrivals had taken their places another door, which was next to a rather ornate looking chair, opened up and out strode Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamont. The Hogwarts headmaster had been reinstated after the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries.

Before Albus took his seat he raised both hands in the air. "All please be seated." He took his place as Chief Warlock and the rest of the court returned to their seats.

Albus took a few moments to read over a few parchments that were included in the case against Lestrange. He adjusted his glasses and then stood. "Bring forth the accused, Bellatrix Black Lestrange."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Miriam was shoved forward through two wooden doors. As soon as she entered the room she could feel the hate that seemed to radiate within the room. The hate was directed toward her. She couldn't help but scan the crowd hoping to find one person she recognized. Her tears began to fall once again. She was about to call out for someone to help her when she was pushed forward onto a chair.

She let out a scream which only she could hear as the chains slithered toward her and attached to her ankles. Two slithered up her body and attached to her wrists.

"Why?" She cried out.

The lower half of the room burst with excited conversation as they watched the witch struggling.

A man moved toward Miriam with what looked like an old fashioned camera and took a picture of her. Her attention quickly moved from the camera to the sight of a blond woman talking to a feather that seemed to zoom across a bit of paper. She was mad… just as the guards had said… she had gone mad. She wondered what she had done.

"Order!" Albus stood once more.

He looked down at the dark witch below.

Miriam wondered if he was God. As afraid as she was of the situation, there was something about that man with the long white beard and deep blue eyes that calmed her. She had the feeling he was good.

Her thoughts on the idea of God quickly turned however when he turned his blue eyes upon her and looked down with a frown. She suddenly felt guilty, though she did not know why.

"You Bellatrix Black Lestrange have been brought here today to stand trial against the many crimes you have committed over the years."

Miriam wanted to call out that she was not this Bellatrix person; however, for some odd reason when she went to speak, the words would not come out.

"You were sentenced to life in Azkaban for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom using the Cruciatus Curse and your involvement with the murderer known as Voldemort," there was a gasp as Albus said his name, "Tom Riddle."

Miriam felt ill. The way the old man seemed to look down to her made her want to crawl away.

"Since your escape in January of 1996 you have been charged with the murder of Sirius Black, numerous muggles, attempted murder of Harry Potter, breaking in entering to the Ministry of Magic and most recently, the attempted murder of Ms. Miriam Andrews, a muggle woman."

Miriam tried to call out again, "But I am Miriam!" However, her voice was not heard. Some invisible force was silencing her.

The old wizard only continued, "You have been sentenced without further trial to the dementor's kiss to be given four days from now."

A relived sigh came from where a young man sat in the audience. Miriam looked over to the blond youth with confusion. She wondered why she boy expressed such relief.

She looked from the boy to the old man. She looked up at him with pleading eyes. He only shook his head at her and turned away. She wondered what was so horrible about a kiss.

She looked around the courtroom at the other people present. To the right a tall blond woman sat looking at her intently. Miriam could just make out tears glistening within her eyes, though none had fallen. She looked toward the woman and tried to express sort of plea. It was clear that this woman held some feeling for her. The woman turned to a young man who Miriam assumed to be her son and whispered something to him. He gave a nod and escorted his mother out of the room.

Miriam's momentary hope had disappeared and the chains around her legs and arms seemed to wrap even tighter. Then, whether it was from weakness brought by not having eaten for many days or from fear, Miriam collapsed and her world once more went dark.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

When Miriam woke once more she was back in the cold dark cell. She was somewhat relieved that the waste had been removed. A fresh bucket of water and a plate of stale bread were placed near the wall directly across from her. She crawled forward and picked up the loaf. Her body was too week to stand and any nourishment was welcome. After her dry lunch, Miriam drank some of the water. It had the faint taste of spoiled fish about it, which made her newly satisfied stomach turn. She had to force her herself to drink the disgusting liquid. After her unpleasant meal, she allowed herself to relax against the cold stone. She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the waves beating against the exterior of her cell. It was oddly enough somewhat relaxing. The constant noise of the waves filtered out the beating fear that pounded in her heart. She wanted to go to sleep and then wake to find herself in her warm bed; however, deep down she know that would not happen.

She wrung her hands in her lap and looked down at their skeletal appearance. Even in the darkness of the cell she could see that the nails were long and jagged. The skin around her knuckles and the palms of her hands were scabbed over from her worthless attempts to beat upon the stone cell wall. She wrung her hands harder as if trying to find the hands she remembered under the scarred flesh; in the process bits of her dry dead flesh flaked off and disappeared into the darkness. The pain was somewhat dull as she rubbed her fingers over the scabs; however, she reveled in the warmth of the pain for it made her feel more alive, more real. While she was unsure of the reality of the world around her and the body she possessed, she was sure of the pain; it was without a doubt her own.

She stilled her hands and thought of the morning's trial. They had said she had committed murder. They had said she had tortured innocent victims. They claimed she was a follower of a madman. A tear fell down her cheek. Had she been so horrible? Had she gone so mad that she believed she was her last victim, Miriam Anderson? She began to wonder if she was really this Bellatrix. How else could it possibly be explained that her appearance was so dark, so shallow, so obviously of that of a madwoman. She wiped a few of the tears off of her face, scratching herself just under the eye with one of her long jagged nails. The warm blood trickled down her face onto her cracked lips.

Her thoughts moved once more to the trial. She thought about the woman with the quill that seemed to write of its own accord, the snake like chains as they had coiled around her body, restraining her to the hard wooden chair, and the old man with the long white hair and blue eyes. He had looked upon her as though he were severely disappointed. She felt oddly regretful that he had looked down upon her in that way. She felt a warm tear fall from her eyes. It washed over the thin cut; the salt stung as it mixed with the blood.

She wondered what the dementor's kiss was. The way the crowd had reacted, it seemed like they were pleased with the sentence. Only the woman with the blond hair and her son had looked as though they were disappointed and even saddened. Her heart felt heavy as she remember the look of sadness and compassion the proud blond woman seemed to have for her. She wished for some of that compassion now; she wished for warmth. She wondered if the dementor's kiss would bring her death; for, surely death would be a fit punishment for the crimes she, Bellatrix Lestrange, had committed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Voldemort was not pleased. His burning red eyes glared down at the cowering rodent that lay sprawled on the damp dungeon floor blow. "Incompetent fool," he hissed in a deadly voice. The dark wizard gripped the wand in his hand; the urge to cast the killing curse on his most worthless of followers was great. "Avery, Antonin, Walden, Augustus, Lucius, Mulciber, Nott, Rodolphus, Rabastan and now Bellatrix, all in Azkaban." Voldemort continued to glare down his lowly follower. "Each of them loyal, each of them have proven their worth and yet…" the dark wizard gripped even harder around his wand; his deadly white skin flushed to purple under the strain, "I am left with you; you, the most cowardly, worthless one of all. Wormtail was one of the last two Death Eaters of his inner circle.

Wormtail trembled and kissed the bloody edges of his master's robes. "I am loyal to you master. I beg your forgiveness. I will not disappoint you my lord."

Voldemort was not impressed by the groveling man.

The dark wizard looked up and scanned the room to the remaining Death Eaters that had answered his summoning. He examined each masked face; while the masks disguised their identity to other, Voldemort could identify them through the mark that had been burned into their flesh. "Each of you has failed me. Each of you has allowed our numbers to falter." Voldemort was not pleased that the majority of the members of his inner circle were now housed within the walls of Azkaban.

"Yaxley!" Vodemort called out.

A tall thin robed wizard hurried forward from the back of the room and dropped to his knees next to Wormtail. He kissed the hem of his master's robes. "Have you any news?"

"Yes my lord." Yaxley answered somewhat proudly; however, his voice was also laced with fear. "I have learned my lord that they are housed on the upper level of the prison, all except for Bellatrix my lord."

Voldemort made no response, making Yaxley nervous. After an unnerving silence Voldemort asked, "And were is Bella?"

"On the first my Lord," Yaxley replied. The Death Eater took a loud gulp. "She is scheduled for the Kiss tomorrow, in the early morning."

Voldemort nodded.

There was another silence. Yaxley lowered his head toward the floor again now that Voldemort seemed to be finished with him.

Voldemort scanned the room of Death Eaters. The numbers were very few. He took note that Snape was not among those who had made it to the gathering. He knew his Hogwarts spy would find it difficult to appear this night.

"I must have them back." Voldermort's voice hissed quietly.

Then, startling the two groveling servants before him, Voldemort stood in a fluid striking movement, much like a snake and addressed the congregation.

"Avery, Antonin, Walden, Augustus, Lucius, Mulciber, Nott, Rodolphus, Rabastan and dear Bella must be released."

His red eyes traveled back down to Wormtail who was still sniveling on the floor. "You Wormtail will go with Yaxley and return them to me." Voldemort's eyes seemed to burn harder. "Do not fail me."

"No my lord." "We will not fail you my lord." Wormtail and Yaxley stood humbly and bowed to their master as they backed away.

Before they had completely returned to their places in the congregation of dark wizards Voldemort called out to them, "Should you fail, you will regret living."

Both wizards seemed to stiffen for a moment before bowing and returning to their assigned places in the group.

"Leave me now." Voldemort demanded.

The group left quickly, grateful that most had escaped the Dark Lord's wrath.

After they had all left Voldemort looked toward the corner of the room where a tall thin shadow stood. While the other member's of his dark followers had not noticed the presents, he had sensed her entry. "Narcissa why have you come?"

Narcissa Malfoy hurried forward. Her eyes were red from crying. She had been grieving her husband and her sister. She did not waste any time; she dropped to her knees in front of the Dark Lord and bowed. "Thank you my lord." She sobbed. Her tears fell onto the hem of the wizard's blood-stained cloak. The tears seemed to reawaking the sent of death that the blood had forgotten.

"Thank you my lord!" Narcissa repeated. "They will be returned?" She had hoped that Voldemort would deem her husband and her sister worthy of a rescue attempt.

"They will be returned to continue their duty to me; however, I will not allow for failure again. Your husband has been an asset to me in the past; however, his usefulness is dwindling." Voldemort studied the light haired woman before him. It pleased him to see the wife of Lucius, her veins flowing with such pureblood, groveling before him. "Bellatrix will also have to prove her worth upon her return. I will not be disappointed again."

"Yes of course my lord." Narcissa replied.

"You will prepare for their return to my circle. Arrange for their recovery and their needs. They will not be of use to me if they are as weak as muggles; I will put you in charge of their care. Do not disappoint me or your life and the lives of your family will be forfeit."

Narcissa trembled. "Of course my lord. I will see that it is done."

Voldemort nodded and sent the woman on her way.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Lucius Malfoy sat crouched in the corner of his cell; his hair hanging down in matted clumps, hiding his sunken face. His once immaculately groomed fingernails, which were now jagged and filthy, dug into his exposed knees. He was hardly recognizable as the proud wizard he once had been; it was only by his silver family ring, now covered in dried blood and dirt, that he was recognizable as the head of the once noble Malfoy family.

"Thirteen months," Lucius mumbled as he ground his nails deeper into his flesh. "Thirteen months," he repeated. A trickle of blood ran down his leg and then drop by drop fell upon the filthy stone floor.

It had been thirteen months since the night at the Department of Mysteries. For the first month of his imprisonment he had been somewhat grateful to be locked away behind the thick stone walls of Azkaban. He knew the Dark Lord was not pleased with their failure to obtain the prophecy. However, the fact that the Dark Lord had been forced to appear, declaring on no uncertain terms to the world that he had in fact truly returned, had been the major loss that night. While Fudge, and thereby the Ministry, had refused to admit Voldemort had returned, there had been some protection against ministry action; now, that protection was gone. Yes, at first it seemed that being hidden away in this tomb of stone was for the best; he would escape the punishment that the Dark Lord would undoubtedly administer. However, now, it had been thirteen months.

Lucius' comfort that he would not be amongst those to be punished for the failures of that one horrible night had dulled. He realized soon that he had lost too much; most importantly, his family name had been tarnished. He was angry. He was bitter. He was now rotting away like common filthy criminal.

He had been a faithful follower of the Dark Lord for twenty-three years. "Twenty-three years," he muttered under his breath. Once again he ground his nails into his flesh. The blood continued to drip on the floor. He had given twenty-three years and now his only compensation was a life sentence in Azkaban. Voldemort had dong nothing to free his most faithful of followers.

BANG! The sound of a large wooden being slammed against the wall as it opened startled the pitiful looking prisoner. Lucius looked up to the two guards who had come to call. The light from their wands caused him momentarily blindness.

"Malfoy!" The shorter of the two guards strode forward, pointing his lit wand directly at the thin body in the corner.

Lucius closed his eyes and looked away from the bright light in front of his face.

"Malfoy!" The guard yelled down at him again, this time adding a swift kick to get the prisoner's attention.

Lucius turned his head back to face the guard and slowly opened his eyes. With one of his hands he pushed his hair out of the way and looked up to the young guard. Malfoy curled his lip in disgust, the wizard was not more than twenty, more likely a recent graduate from Hogwarts; he was certainly not a Slytherin. Slowly, in almost a serpent like grace, the once proud man stood up; he was much taller than the young guard.

The younger wizard took a step back and the second guard, who had been standing in the shadows, took a step forward.

"You… um…" the young guard mumbled something incoherent.

Lucius stood straighter and strove to look as menacing as he could without his wand.

"You have a visitor," the young guard finely made out his message.

Lucius looked toward the second Azkaban guard. His eyebrow quirked slightly and then he looked back to the fool before him. "Who?"

"Your wife," he replied as though surprised the woman would bother. The younger man had quickly gained back some of his previous arrogance.

"Well then, take me to her."

-----

Narcissa looked around the small, sparsely furnished room and a shiver went down her spine. Everything was heavy about the place, the roughly built furniture, the stone encasement, the cold air, the stench, the madness, and the grief. She felt the weight upon her shoulders and wanted to flee; however, she could not, she would not. She pulled the soft velvet cloak around her arms as though it would keep her seated there and restrain her from fleeing the room.

She had come at least once a month to see him. While she would have liked to see him more, to know he was alive, to be sure he knew she loved him; she could not bear the madness of the place. She did not know how Lucius stood it; though, she knew he was a very strong and rather stubborn man. She frowned; her sister had not done so well. The guards had denied her request for visitation claiming Bella had gone quite mad, perhaps more so than before. She tried to hold back her tears as she thought that she may never see her sister truly alive again… should Wormtail fail.

She wrung her hands under her cloak waiting nervously for the arrival of her husband.

----

"Cissa?" Lucius appeared through the stone wall. There were no doors.

The tall blond woman stood. "Lucius. Oh thank Merlin." She hurried over to her emaciated looking husband. She never thought he could look worse than he had been the last time she had been there. She touched her warm hand to his face.

Lucius leaned into the touch of his wife. At that moment her touch was worth more to him than even life's breath. Her hand was soft, supple, loving. As her hand drew away to wipe a tear from her eye the cold air once again reminded him of his anger. It had been thirteen months.

"How is Draco?" Lucius asked rather stiffly. He had feared that his son would resent him. Lucius knew very well that the Dark Lord would not hesitate to punish the son for the father's mistakes.

Narcissa nodded, "As well as can be Lucius, with you gone. He misses you."

Lucius nodded and gave a relived sigh. Narcissa didn't let on that the boy had been punished in any way.

"He was with me at Bella's trial. He was a comfort." Her eyes grew sad. "They have sentenced her to the kiss Lucius. They will bring her before the dementors at dawn."

Lucius shook his head.

"They wouldn't let me see her. This could be my last chance and they wouldn't let me…" She buried her head in her husband's filthy Azkaban issued robe and began to sob harder. Lucius wrapped his arms around her. There was nothing he could say.

Knowing there was nothing she could do to comfort her sister, Narcissa yearned to at least give Lucius some hope. She longed to tell him of the Dark Lord's orders so that he could prepare for whatever Wormtail had planed. She wished more than anything that she could say something, anything to give her husband the needed strength to make it through the next twenty-four hours. It was as though by telling Lucius Voldemort's plan she would have more assurance that both her husband and her sister would be free by the dawn; back home, safe. However, she knew that that informed hope could also foil the plan. She pulled away from her husband and looked around the cell. It was likely there were spells on the room to allow the guards to hear every word they said.

She looked into her husbands eyes and willed her thoughts to him.

Lucius was warmed by her look; however, Narcissa had never been able to do Legilimency.

"I love you Lucius." She said in a soft voice.

Lucius nodded. "Cissa." He leaned forward and gave her a soft kiss.

It was at that moment a tall, bulky guard came barging into the room. "That's enough. Get up Malfoy. You've had your time." They were allowed only five minutes visits.

As the guard pulled him by the arm back through the wall he gave his wife one last look, almost a smile.

Narcissa Malfoy sobbed into her hands and prayed to Merlin that Wormtail would not fail.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Barton Pritchard stepped out into the cold evening air. Though it was mid July, the island upon which Azkaban was situated seemed to remain in a constant winter. There was no snow, but there was often rain, the freezing kind that seemed to chill the soul. While there were no more dementors, save those which had been contained to administer the kiss, the island remained deathly cold. He pulled his cloak over his shoulders and then fished around in one of its inside pockets for a pack of Benson's, a muggle vise he had picked up when he was last in London. With a flick of his wand, he lit the cigarette and took a drag.

It was a relief to get outside the prison walls. He leaned back against the inter wall of the small alcove, the guard entrance. He would be glad to take his two weeks of leave. He took another long drag of the cigarette. It had been far too long since he had been off this forsaken island. He had taken on two weeks extra for a buddy of his whose wife had birthed their first child. He told himself that he would never again offer to cover for an additional two weeks. Any time over the regular four made him feel like he would go mad. Six weeks were far too long for any sane wizard.

Pritchard slowly released the smoke he had been holding in his lungs and turned to look out toward the violent sea. The waves were gray and seemed to bleed white foam as they were sliced to pieces by the jagged shore. It was just before sundown and the sky, which was also gray, held little promise of the lovely sunset that he usually enjoyed from his flat in Diagon Alley. No, there was nothing ever lovely about the sea views from Azkaban prison.

The sound of a screeching bird caught his attention. He looked toward the sound to see a large avamar picking at the bloody entrails of a large fish it had taken from the cold water. Avamar's were filthy birds; they were a cross between a muggle sea gull and a small dragon. The bird had a deadly pointed beak, large black wings and four violent looking dragon like claws. They were roughly the size of a large dog and while fish were their primary diet, nesting female birds had been known to attack humans if desperate. They were usually no threat to a wizard; however, without a wand it could prove somewhat dangerous. They were by no means gentle birds. Pritchard was somewhat surprised to see the bird on this side of the island; they normally stayed on the eastern side which was coated in their grayish white shit. He watched in fascination as the creature dissected its meal.

His attention was drawn away from the feasting avamar by the sound of another. In one steep dive it swooped down toward its companion. The two birds squabbled over the fish for a moment before the smaller stepped away. Pritchard frowned. Never in his seven years of working as an Azkaban guard had he seen a single living creature on the western shores of the cold rock. Then, just as he was taking another drag, the sound of hundreds of wings and screeching avamar calls was heard overhead. Pritchard stepped out from the alcove and stood back in surprise; the entire colony of avamar that had made its home on the eastern shores of Azkaban took to flight and circled round and round before landing before him. "Great Merlin!" He stepped back into the alcove. A few larger looking birds were too close to him for comfort. He moved back and watched with horrified ah as they seemed flap about in some sort of confusion. It was an odd sight to behold. He stepped back until he felt the cold iron door of the guard's entrance, took the last drag of his cigarette, tossed it on the ground and then crushed it out with his boot. He quickly decided to cut his smoke break a little short and have a cup of tea; an entire flock of confused Avamar was not something he wanted to deal with.

--

The forms of seven darkly robed deatheaters stood out against the white painted rocks on the eastern side of the Azkaban Island. One of which had landed in a large nest, crushing two of the black eggs that had been resting there. He kicked the sticky mess from his boot and cursed the leader of this ill planned break-out. This was not a promising beginning to their mission.

"You might as well alert the entire regiment of Azkaban guards of our presents Wormtail." The deatheater who had landed in the nest kicked some of the yellow yoke onto the robes of the short plump wizard. "Not a good start."

"We're through the wards Parkinson!" the leader of this mission defended himself in a squeaky voice.

"That won't do us any good if we are caught!" Parkinson pulled out his broom. "Just remember you can't use your wands, not yet. We don't want to take any more chances than we already have." He glared at Wormtail through his mask.

Several of the others nodded in agreement, each pulling out their brooms.

"Do you have the potions?" Wormtail asked the deatheater to his right.

The deatheater nodded. A length of his black hair fell across his silvery white mask.

Then, as though silently agreed upon, each mounted their broom and flew quickly toward the fortress, their cloaks brushing along the jagged rocks as they traveled.

--

Barton Pritchard hung his cloak in his locker and moved toward the small break room kitchen to fix himself a warm cup of tea. It was just the thing he needed before heading back to his post. That Black witch was due for her dinner. He shook his head. He remembered her from when she had been here before. She had always been quite mad; however, there was something very odd about her recently. She seemed almost afraid, still quite mad, but seemingly terrified. In the six years he had been assigned to her watch, prior to the break-out, he had never seen her scared. It was almost human. He had checked on her just before going on brake and he could hear her mumbling to herself as she rocked back and forth, "Bellatrix, Bellatrix, not my hands, not me, not Miriam, not Bellatrix, Miriam, Bellatrix Lestrange." Her mumblings were soft and afraid, confused. She was nothing like the Bellatrix that had escaped. He thought perhaps it was the fear of being sentenced to the kiss. By the morning she would not be anyone but an empty shell.

Just as the whistle on the tea kettle blew, the door of the guard's entrance flew open and the sound of the avamar and the cold wind burst through, followed by seven of his fellow guardsmen, one of which he recognized as Martin Bungslow.

"Hey there Martin!" Barton gave a hello to his friend while he poured the hot water into a teapot. "How's the new babe, boy or a girl?"

Martin didn't answer promptly; however he soon replied somewhat garbled. "Fine, fine, a boy."

"Just made some tea, you want to sit down for a pot? I wasn't expecting you to come until the afternoon tomorrow."

"No tea." Martin replied.

Barton frowned; there was something not quite right. Martin had just returned from the side of his wife and new son; however, he didn't react like a new father should when questioned about his child. "Everything ok?" he asked somewhat concerned. "You got through those avamar's ok?"

The seven nodded.

"Never seen'um act so queer." Barton shrugged and then turned to pour himself a cup of the fresh tea.

The last thing he heard was the sound of someone moving forward and then he felt something hard come down upon his head before the world went black.


End file.
